On the Borderline of a Teacup
by Belladonna Lee
Summary: Draco/Harry. At precisely half-past three, Harry locks up his shop and goes to the book shop three doors down the street. At precisely half-past three, Draco pours out two cups of tea, one for him and one for Harry.


Disclaimer: The world of Harry Potter and its characters are not mine.

A/N: Merry Christmas and Happy Holidays, everyone. This is written for the _newyearcntdown_ challenge on LJ. The prompt used in this part is _gingerbread_.

 **On the Borderline of a Teacup**

At precisely half-past three, Harry hung up the sign _Be back in 15 minutes_ on the door, locked up his shop, braved the bitter cold in his woollen jacket, and arrived at the book shop three doors down the street. The smell of old books and new books mingled in the air. Vintage wooden shelves lined up along the walls beneath the mellow lamplight. Sprigs of mistletoe, tied together with a red ribbon, were hung on the wall behind the antique cash register.

Standing behind the counter, Draco had just finished pouring out the tea, one for him and one for Harry. When he found Harry smiling at him, he raised an eyebrow. "Has someone been sipping from the firewhisky bottle again?" he drawled.

"Actually, no." Looking somewhat sheepish, Harry placed the round tin box he had brought along with him on the counter. "Gingerbread biscuits from Teddy. Well, he didn't bake them himself. He helped out, and his grandmother did the mixing and baking."

A flicker of consternation came and went inside Draco's mind. Of his Aunt Andromeda he knew very little: his mother was reluctant to speak of her, the supposed blood traitor disowned by the Blacks. Nevertheless, the House of Black was now little more than a ruin, a ghost that lingered and could do nothing more. The notion did not bother him much. It was just as well that the name died with the war and with his younger self.

Draco cast a glance at the certain someone who owned the Black family home, who was Teddy's godfather, and who at the moment was giving him an expectant look from the other side of the counter—his former classmate, his current neighbour, his afternoon tea companion, and perhaps something more.

Keeping the thought to himself, Draco summoned a stool for Harry to sit on and offered him milk and sugar, both of which Harry declined. "I see what you are doing there." Draco picked up the thread of their conversation. "Afternoon tea is just an excuse. All you wanted is to show off your precious godson's gingerbread biscuits."

Unmindful of the jab, Harry opened the lid of the box, within which were gingerbread biscuits resting atop several layers of brown waxed paper. "I prefer to call it sharing, but you don't have to eat it if you don't want to," he said mildly before picking up his teacup and taking a sip. "Is this Ceylon?"

"It is." With faint curiosity Draco examined the gingerbread biscuits. The biscuits were baked to a pleasant shade of brown; a waft of sweetness and spices enticed the senses; the shapes, however, gave him pause. "That godson of yours has interesting taste. I don't know of any other seven-year-old who would make Cthulhu's head out of dough."

"Huh?" Harry squinted at the biscuit in question: a blob of a biscuit with attached tentacles. For a supposed eldritch nightmare, the biscuit looked relatively harmless. "No, I think that's the Giant Squid I told him about."

"If you say so," Draco said absently, his eyes fixed upon his next target. "Hmm, the horned one over there looks like the devil."

"Are you sure about that?" The note of annoyance in Harry's voice could not quite mask the hint of amusement lurking beneath the surface. "It could be a reindeer or the Yule goat."

"Goats are often associated with the devil, so I'm not entirely wrong." Tilting his head to one side, Draco contemplated the biscuit that could only be described as an experiment in abstract art. "A Lethifold, perhaps?" He ventured a guess.

Harry leant over the box to have a better look. "All right, he might have messed up that one."

When Harry lifted his head, he paused, his face mere inches away from Draco's. Taken aback by the sudden proximity, Draco met Harry's gaze and saw his own face reflected in the verdant depths. His lips parted ever so slightly, Harry remained where he was as though in hesitation or in wait, for what Draco had an inkling of. After all, his afternoon tea companion was not a difficult man to read.

Silence stretched on in the space between them, silence teeming with feelings left unexplored and words left unsaid. It was neither the time nor the place for a game of charades—not while he remained on this side of the counter and Harry on the other side.

Feigning ignorance, Draco moved away from Harry, picked out Cthulhu's head from the box, and took a bite. The biscuit tasted of ginger, sugar and spices; it was too sweet for his taste. "It's edible," he remarked with deliberate nonchalance. "I don't see any gingerbread man in the box."

To his credit, Harry was quick to recover his wits, though a tint of colour lingered on his face. He sat down on the stool and picked a biscuit at random: it was the one that Draco claimed to be a Lethifold.

"Teddy is afraid of gingerbread men." Harry explained while dunking the biscuit into his tea. "He once read a picture book about a gingerbread boy going on an adventure and getting eaten in the end. The story gave him such a fright he had nightmares after that."

"Well, stories for children can be quite morbid at times. Even fairy tales originated from folktales that were meant to entertain the adults." With that Draco finished what remained of his biscuit and washed it down with tea. "By the way, you might want to cultivate your godson's artistic talent. He could become the master of horror someday."

"Very funny." After shooting Draco a look, Harry polished off the Lethifold in several bites.

"What I meant to say was that you can't protect him from every little thing." In leisure Draco poured himself another cup of tea, picked up the saucer, and took a sip, all the while aware of the conflicted look upon Harry's visage. "Anyway, I'm in no position to give you any advice."

"Yes, no, I mean thanks. Sorry. I can't say I like the idea, but I appreciate the thought." Abashed, Harry rubbed the back of his neck, and his gaze drifted away from Draco to the sprigs of mistletoe on the wall. "Sorry, I'm not making any sense, am I?"

"I don't mind." Something about the way Harry grew flustered and stumbled over his words made Draco feel a shade warmer than usual, but he was not about to tell Harry that. "Would you like more tea?"

"Yes, please. Thank you."

In what little remained of their fifteen minutes, Draco and Harry talked about mundane subjects over tea, though Draco declined further offering of gingerbread biscuits. As their conversation reached a natural lull, it was time for Harry to return to his shop. His mood turning ever so pensive, Draco brushed his thumb over the rim of his cup and watched Harry pack up the box of biscuits.

Life at twenty-five was not the catastrophe he once envisioned; it was not the golden dream he once imagined either. Other than minor everyday nuisance and the occasional boredom, he had nothing in particular to complain about. He was contented with staying on this side of the counter while Harry remained on the other side—or so he believed.

A spark of inspiration came to Draco, and out of impulse he acted on it. Pulling out his wand, he summoned a children's book from one of the shelves in his labyrinth of a book shop, scribbled a quick note on a blank page, and handed the book over to a bemused Harry.

"A Christmas present for Teddy." When Harry gave him a wary look, Draco heaved a sigh. "And no, there are no gingerbread men or eldritch abomination in it. Also, relay this message to Teddy for me. _To Teddy, the gingerbread biscuit tastes all right. I like what you did with Cthulhu's head—_ "

"You aren't going to let it go, are you?" Harry interjected.

Draco ignored the interruption and continued. " _P.S. Tell that godfather of yours that I would like to have dinner with him. Time and place to be negotiated in person._ "

"What... oh."

Those summer green eyes of Harry's blinked at Draco; those slightly charred lips of his froze in the shape of a small O; and that boyish face of his took on the expression of someone who had stumbled upon an answer to one of the great mysteries of the world.

Hiding his smirk and his nervousness behind a façade of composure, Draco asked, "Well? Would you tell him that for me?"

Harry's gaze wandered from the book in his hand, the box of gingerbread biscuits on the counter, the two matching teacups beside the tin box, and then back to Draco's face. A beat or two later, Harry drew in a breath, and his lips curved into a genuine smile. "Maybe not the postscript..." He trailed off. "Do you have anything to do tomorrow night?"

* * *

 _Finis._

A/N: I haven't written something light and romantic for some time, so here it is. Thank you for reading.


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